Chapter 49

“…It’s absurd.”

Quilbion said while looking at the board lying on the workbench. Drich, sitting across from him, set down his saw and asked.

“Why all of a sudden?”

Quilbion let out a hollow laugh.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you alive?”

“Why am I alive? You were nodding off and now you’re out of it. Quil, wake up. Stop talking nonsense and finish that. We’re already swamped with backed-up orders as it is.”

Drich clapped his hands together.

The first and second pigs working in the back oink-oinked in agreement.

It was funny that “oink-oink” sounded like human speech.

“Are dreams always this shitty? And where the hell is this place anyway?”

“Look at this bastard trying to dodge work with nonsense. Hey! Just go home and rest. The way you are now, you’ll cut your hand instead of the wood if you pick up the tools.”

Drich waved his hand dismissively.

Quilbion looked at the hand saw. If he cut Drich’s body with that thing, would it cut well?

“Never mind, you’re already dead anyway.”

“Who’s dead? I’m perfectly fine.”

“Right. Stay fine even in a dream.”

He slapped his own cheek hard. This should wake him from the dream.

But only his cheek stung—the dream didn’t end.

“Will slapping yourself wake you up? Come here, I’ll hit you properly.”

Drich beckoned to him.

Quilbion frowned and gripped a small hammer. He placed his left hand on the shelf and raised the hammer.

Drich cried out in alarm.

“You crazy bastard! What are you doing!”

“What do you think? Trying to wake up from sleep. Why?”

“This guy’s really lost it. Hey, hey, stop him.”

The first pig grabbed Quilbion’s arm. Oink-oink, oink-oink.

“Get a grip? I’m acting like this because I have a grip. Hey, is it normal for pigs to walk on two legs and talk? Is this normal? Huh?”

“It’s normal! Then what’s normal?”

Even Drich joined in. He wanted to smash his hand with the hammer, but he couldn’t move an inch with both of them clinging to him.

It was a ridiculous situation.

Even though it’s a dream, he couldn’t do as he pleased.

“My head really must be broken. Even my dreams have become strange.”

“This won’t do. I’m taking this bastard home. Being cooped up in the workshop has fried his brain.”

With Drich’s support, he came outside the workshop.

Dry leaves were falling with a rustle. He stared blankly at the street lined with fallen leaves.

“It was winter, then summer, and now it’s fall?”

“Of course the seasons change, what else would they do? Quil, please get it together.”

“You’re the one who needs to get it together. You’re dead! I’m telling you, you’re dead.”

“Why do you keep killing a perfectly fine person?”

Drich said while patting his shoulder.

“Yeah, I understand. You’re acting like this because of her.”

Who’s “her” now?

Quilbion shook his head and shoved Drich away. Drich fell down going “ugh,” and Quilbion glanced at him before running toward the street tree in front of the building.

Just like falling from a cliff wakes you from a dream, if he crashed into something, he’d come to his senses.

“Hey!”

Along with Drich’s shout, he slammed into the street tree.

Thud!

Sharp pain spread across his entire face.

It hurt like hell. Even though it was a dream, it hurt too much. The problem was that even though it hurt, he wasn’t waking from the dream.

“I’m going crazy.”

He said while rubbing his tingling nose mercilessly. Drich, who’d followed, smacked Quilbion’s head.

“This guy’s really gone insane. Are you really going to die because Twella dumped you?”

He knew it was a dream, and he knew everything Drich was saying was nonsense, but it was something he absolutely couldn’t let slide.

“Who did what to who?”

Drich looked at him pitifully.

“I know, I get that feeling. I honestly thought you two would work out. Looking from the side, you seemed pretty compatible. But you know how people’s hearts are…”

Quilbion reached out and covered Drich’s mouth.

“I get that it’s a bullshit dream, so stop.”

He stood up while brushing off his clothes.

He knew it was a dream, but nothing was changing.

He stood there blankly and scanned his surroundings. Carriages going back and forth on the paved road, children running busily somewhere. A half-broken mechanical doll was creaking while holding a signboard.

“It’s nice that I can see things.”

The moment he woke up, darkness would greet him.

“Hey, hey! Where are you going!”

Leaving Drich calling from behind, he walked down the street.

The feeling was strange. The shuffling sound of footsteps and the sour smell coming from the restaurant on his left. The seasonal ambiance felt through the dry air.

It was remarkably vivid.

As if this place was reality and the pitch-black reality was the dream.

A world where grotesque goblins lived, monsters that killed dozens of humans with a single word, and a man who called himself a god.

“Maybe what doesn’t make sense isn’t here, but there.”

A laugh escaped.

He deliberately bumped into someone approaching. The man whose shoulder brushed his glared at Quilbion with narrowed eyes before snorting and turning away.

When exactly would this dream end?

There was a strong intuition that he shouldn’t stay long.

Quilbion looked at a carriage approaching from far away at quite a fast pace. Even though it was passing through the middle of the city, it wasn’t slowing down.

That’s good.

He’d made up his mind, so now was the time to act.

His mouth felt parched. Even in a dream, he was tense all the same. If he got hit, it would hurt like hell.

When the carriage came within 3 meters, Quilbion tried to jump in front of it.

His body, which had been leaning forward, jerked backward sharply.

Ugh, his balance crumbled in an instant. He fell hard on his butt. While massaging his stinging rear and looking back—

“Are you insane?”

Twella stood there, her face pale.

Quilbion let out a deep sigh.

“You really are no help to my life at all.”

“What?”

“When I begged you to save me, you killed me, and when I need to die, you save me. Your personality’s like garbage, really.”

Even talking to her was irritating.

Anyway, she was a fake created by his brain.

The woman standing behind him was in the same vein as the fantasies and hallucinations he saw and heard over and over in reality.

Something that didn’t exist.

Something that tore at his insides even though it didn’t exist.

Quilbion examined the road. There was no carriage speeding like before.

“Damn it.”

Should he fall from somewhere high?

He raised his head. While searching for a tall building, Twella’s face suddenly popped up from below his field of vision.

“What?”

“Are you really going to do this?”

“What now?”

“Why are you so indifferent to people? If you die like this, what am I supposed to do?”

He wanted to pour out a torrent of curses, but thinking it was a waste of mental energy, he closed his mouth.

Ignoring Twella, he walked toward the five-story building visible in the distance. If he fell from there, he’d wake up.

“Where are you going?”

Twella grabbed his arm.

“Let go.”

“Tell me where you’re going.”

She looked ready to cry. It was absurd.

“Tell me!”

Her desperate voice mercilessly carved up whatever patience he had left. Quilbion grabbed Twella by the collar.

He gripped with both hands and put in all his strength.

“Right, I should kill you first.”

Twella gasped and struggled.

Her eyes, her gestures, her sounds.

Damn it, it was annoyingly realistic.

When the hell would this cursed dream end?

“I’m sorry…”

“Shut up! Don’t ever say that in front of me again.”

Just hearing it made his skin crawl. I’m sorry, I can’t help it. He’d rather swallow filth than hear those words again.

“How much did I, how much did I trust you? How much I really…”

He had to stay cold-headed, that’s what he thought, but before he knew it, emotion had taken over his mind.

Hatred and resentment, longing, sadness. It was when the whirlpool of indistinguishable emotions filled his gaping mouth.

Thwack!

A dull sound came.

What?

The world grew hazy. In an instant, his strength drained away and his body tilted sideways.

Only then did he realize.

Some bastard hit the back of my head…

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Grab this crazy bastard! He just tried to assault this woman!”

“Police patrol, police patrol! Over here! This guy!”

People’s shouts dug into his ears relentlessly.

Quilbion thought while lying collapsed.

This is my dream, you’re all fantasies I created.

Please get a grip!

*

“You awake?”

Quilbion blinked his eyes.

For a while, he stared blankly at Twella as he tried to piece together the fragmented memories.

Twella was sitting in a chair, holding a glass. Twella who’d aged but had no sense of dissonance whatsoever.

Suddenly, Quilbion became curious about his own face. What did I look like past twenty?

“Disgusting, really.”

Quilbion said, realizing he was still in the dream.

When he tried to get up, Twella stopped him.

“Stay lying down.”

He looked at her hand touching his shoulder. He didn’t even have the energy to get angry anymore.

“Why won’t it end?”

“What won’t end?”

“This dream. This terrible dream. I’d rather have a dream where I’m being chased by a murderer.”

“Quil, this isn’t a dream.”

“It isn’t for you.”

A laugh came out.

Had he really gone insane?

What if he wasn’t dreaming but his head had broken so badly that he couldn’t distinguish reality from fantasy?

“Before you see me, that world inside your head will collapse and disappear.” Those were Winte’s words.

Just like he said, maybe he’d reached a point of no return.

Laughter kept spilling through his twisted lips.

“You should rest.”

Twella got up from the chair.

Soon he heard the door close.

Quilbion tossed and turned in the soft blanket. What should dreams within dreams be called?

How many minutes had passed?

He came out of the blanket. If he stayed like this, he felt like he’d really go insane.

Let’s die quickly. If he died, he’d have an answer.

If this was a dream, he’d wake up; if this was reality, it would end.

But what if this really is reality?

Cold sweat beaded up.

The end of everything, death, complete severance.

Even in the worst situation, he’d endured without giving up—he couldn’t die futilely.

He needed certainty.

Certainty that this place was a dream.

After confirming that, without any lingering attachment, he’d die to wake from sleep.

“Twella!”

He flung open the door.

A cozy kitchen came into view.

“This is a dream, right? Right?”

He raised his voice, but Twella didn’t appear. He could sense her presence just moments ago though.

“That figures. This can’t be reality.”

While giggling, he looked at the window. He examined the bearded man reflected in the hazy window.

An older me.

Me in my mid-twenties.

Me created by a fantasy.

But why?

The man reflected in the window was wrapped in such unsettling realism. It was as if this place was reality and not a simple dream, and the man was shouting that with his whole body.

His breathing grew increasingly rough.

Quilbion grabbed the front door handle hard.

“…This is.”

It was a world dyed gray.

The weeds on the ground, the sky—everything that entered his eyes was gray.

Surprised, he looked back.

The kitchen, the entryway where he’d been standing—they’d disappeared.

He was left alone in a world of nothing but gray.

While looking around, he took a step.

What kind of dream was this now?

After walking like that for quite a while—

He saw a small girl in the distance.

The child who’d been crouching stood up. Looking closely, she seemed about his age.

The girl slowly approached.

Quilbion frowned.

It was a strange thing. She’d clearly looked young, but looking again, she seemed to be in her late thirties.

While he was tilting his head wondering what this was—

The woman was at twilight.

Her back wasn’t bent, but she couldn’t hide her aged body.

When the woman came right in front of him like that, she’d become a young child again.

The child spoke.

“I’m sorry.”